Memories of Me

by Dani Hart

  I followed the dark chocolate hardwood floors to the first bedroom. It was a good size and had a beautiful reading alcove and large window on the focus wall. It had a partial view of the ocean and a partial view of the untouched acres of land I assumed Grady owned. Other than the bed and a dresser, it was plain, too. Nothing adorned the walls. Out of curiosity…I stepped in and peeked into the closet. It was completely empty. It made me wonder if this was a vacation home. It would make sense why Grady wasn’t living here.

  The last door was to the master suite, and it was anything but quaint. The room was massive, complete with a bay window overlooking the ocean. This room was more inviting than the others with a floral duvet and antique furniture, and the master bathroom was impressive, but it still lacked a personal signature. I opened the master closet and wasn’t surprised it was barren, too.

  I ventured back to the kitchen. The house was uniform with the hardwood floors, beige color on the walls, and the lack of décor. It was almost as if this house was made for me. Nothing attached to a person or memory. Just rooms waiting to be filled, like my mind.

  And then I felt it. The rise of nothingness climbing over each rib and digging its way up my throat. My hands trembled and I felt as if I might be sick. I fell into a chair at the kitchen table and focused on the crushed seashells that made up the top. The swirl of pinks and blues and the glow of iridescence reminded me of an ocean and the ache it would cause throughout the bones of my feet when it would come ashore and swallow them before quickly retreating again. Over and over until my feet finally numbed. That was what made up my memories now. Small pockets of time that seemed to have no real importance. They were there, though, and so intense that even now, sitting in this house, I could feel the ache in my feet and smell the saltwater as it splashed my face. I squeezed my fists together, my nails digging into my skin from the pressure, and I sucked in a deeply painful breath.

  Please, stop, I begged myself.

  I sat there among the seashells and salty air until my senses finally released the memory. Released me. The trembling ceased and my legs regained some strength, so I ventured through the sitting area out to the back patio for some fresh air.

  I propped open the French doors and walked onto the covered patio that was furnished with white wicker. Farther out was a stone fire pit with chairs encircling it.

  This place was magnificent. The sounds of the waves breaking on the cliff below echoed up to the house, and the breeze whipped misty, crisp air onto my face, the salty taste lingering on my lips. I closed my eyes and took it all in.

  The back of the house faced west, giving me an unobstructed view of the setting sun overflowing with shades of pink. I remembered sunsets. Not the place or time, but the feeling of unequivocal beauty, and today was as if I was seeing one for the first time and rather than feel alone, I felt content for just a fleeting moment.

  "Hi."

  My body jolted at the sudden intrusion, and then my muscles froze when I realized it wasn't Grady's voice. I turned slowly to face a man with short brown hair, kind eyes, and an apologetic smile. He was dressed casually in dark jeans, and I caught a glimpse of his chiseled arms hidden beneath a tight-fitting, plain grey cotton shirt. We both stood silently. While I was taking inventory, he seemed to be studying me. Watching me.

  He took a step forward, but then stopped. "I'm sorry if I scared you. I knocked a few times before coming back here."

  I wanted to speak. I wanted words to flow effortlessly from my lips, but I couldn’t. Instead, I stood there unmoving and silent, completely embarrassed.

  "I'm Brandt. I live down the road."

  My mouth finally started to gurgle something, but it was unintelligible. I was literally tongue-tied. I was flustered by Grady's presence, but Brandt had me speechless and my stomach doing flips.

  "I just wanted to introduce myself. If you need anything, follow the path past your driveway along the cliff. It's a shortcut to my house."

  He paused for a moment and then flashed a dazzling smile that indented dimples on either side. "It was nice meeting you,” he said as he walked away.

  His voice sang like an old country song, sweet and alluring. I was disappointed when the corner of the house stole him from me. I wanted to say something. To introduce myself, but I understood why I couldn’t find the words. Because I didn’t have a name, but then Grady’s nickname popped in my head.

  “Freckles. They call me Freckles,” I whispered. It was my shame and fear that kept me from speaking louder. How could I get to know someone else when I didn't even know myself? It would be wrong. I would be deceiving him, but I wanted to talk to him even if it was just to feel less alone.

  I dropped in one of the chairs and recounted the hopelessness that encased me from this morning when the hospital finally released me. I knew my strength would waver at some point, and the protective layer would fall apart piece by piece, and the truth would assume control. For now, though, I just wanted to watch the sun disappear into the horizon and to remember what that was like. Remember one thing at a time. Or was I creating one memory at a time? Building a new memory bank to pull from so, if Brandt came back, I could say something that didn't feel like a lie. I could talk about this sunset, the house, and the stars. I could talk about anything but me.

  Coffee Orgasms

  I REMAINED OUTSIDE for hours until my eyes were fighting against gravity to stay open. I was trying to avoid the inevitable nighttime routine. It was a methodical checklist you would assume to be the easiest part of your day. No decisions to be made, because you had done it so many times you could rely on its certainty. Yet, here I was, staring at the pile of stuff on the bathroom counter that Grady had bought for me: toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, and face wash with no idea where to start. At the hospital, I had adopted brushing my teeth after washing my face. I didn’t have floss there, but what did I do before the accident? Did I wash my face first or brush my teeth? Did I floss before brushing my teeth or after? I just stared at the pile. Why the hell did it matter? Why couldn’t I just pick up the damn toothbrush and brush my teeth like every other normal person in the world? My cheeks started to flare.

  Just pick up the damn toothbrush!

  But I couldn’t. I couldn’t, because I didn’t know my routine. And, for that reason, I couldn’t do it, so instead, I swiped the pile off the counter and watched as the floss and toothbrush bounced across the floor, and the face wash broke open, spilling its contents.

  “Dammit!” I gritted through my teeth. I wanted to punch the reflection looking back at me in the mirror. Taunting me. Pushing me to go further. Instead, I kicked the face wash across the bathroom as I walked past. If I couldn’t remember my simple little routine, I would skip it. A slightly unstable and misplaced laugh escaped me as I yanked the floral duvet off the oversized bed and crawled under the satin cream sheets. They felt cold against my hot skin, bringing instant relief from my tantrum. This should be the moment I cried. The moment I broke down and accepted my fate, but I didn’t. I didn’t feel defeated or sad. I felt angry. Someone had stolen my life and I didn’t know if I would ever get it back.

  The first time I truly saw myself was a few minutes ago. I had barely glanced in a mirror at the hospital. I was too scared to look. Ashamed. What if I had scars all over my face from whatever horrific accident claimed me? I had discovered my worries were unfounded, and while I was angry, I was relieved. No scars. My blonde, naturally highlighted hair was unkempt from barely running a brush through it before I left the hospital, and my eyes were a weird combination of hazel and blue, but my skin was on the fair side and unblemished aside from the freckles sprinkling my nose haphazardly. They were the reason Grady had nicknamed me Freckles. My body wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t bad. It was frail with very little meat around my bones, and the skin was loose from lying in a bed for so long. The therapy the past week had helped build some sort of foundation for an exercise routine. The memory lapse was the one thing I needed to fix that I couldn’
t, that I had no control over.

  My memories.

  My life before I woke up.

  There was still nothing.

  My mind was filing away every new moment since I woke up, but nothing else was there. Well, some things were. I knew what trees were and cars and toothpaste, and I even remembered movies, and small moments like the ocean in between my toes, but everything else was gone. Everything that made me who I was, erased, and it scared the hell out of me.

  AN OBNOXIOUS POUNDING filled my head, waking me from a deep slumber. When the knocking continued, I realized I wasn’t dreaming. I rubbed my eyes until they opened to see Grady leaning on the doorframe to the bedroom.

  “Creep much?” The way he wore confidence was intimidating.

  “A little,” he teased.

  I turned my back to him and threw the pillow over my head. I really should have brushed my teeth last night. Gross.

  “Want to tell me why you beat up the bathroom last night, Freckles?”

  “Not really,” I murmured under the pillow.

  His shoes stomped across the wood floors and I heard the water turn on in the bathroom. I lifted my pillow slightly to see he was cleaning up the face wash that had splattered all over the wall after I kicked it. I grumbled to myself. I felt like a complete jerk. He was letting me live here, and it took me less than a day to start trashing it. I threw the pillow off, tossed the sheets onto the floor, and stumbled into the bathroom.

  “Wow, Freckles, was it hard making that rat’s nest?” He pointed to my hair.

  “Whatever.” I glanced in the mirror and was slightly appalled. Grady started laughing. “Shut up.”

  “Why didn’t you wear the pajamas I bought you?”

  “The same reason why I skipped on brushing my teeth.” I flashed a grimy fake smile. I could feel the coating of disgustingness that layered my teeth.

  “Hmmm.” He looked me up and down. “You need to shower, but first,” he said, handing me the toothbrush and toothpaste before continuing, “you need to brush.”

  The look on his face said it all. “That bad, huh?”

  “I’m afraid so.” He laughed.

  I sighed in defeat. “Fine, but you need to be going.”

  “And here I thought I was going to get to watch a beautiful stranger shower.”

  I couldn’t tell if he was teasing or serious. “You’re lucky you’ve seen me in a bathing suit. Now, out,” I instructed.

  He laughed as he shut the bedroom door behind him. I wondered if he would stay or if I had scared him away with my rat’s nest and bad breath.

  When I got out of the shower, my bed was made, and my jeans from yesterday and a fresh shirt were laid out on the bed. I’m not going to lie; it made me smile. It still screamed a bit stalker, but it was a sweet gesture, and Grady had done nothing to make me think he was a serial killer.

  I gnawed on the towel wrapped around my head like a giddy teenager and walked over to the bed and picked up the shirt. It was a simple white and grey striped V-neck. I held it up to my body. Just my size. I looked at the door as if I could see him standing on the other side and smiled again. It felt nice having someone around, especially as good-looking as Grady.

  I dressed quickly and dashed to the bathroom, suddenly feeling self-conscious. I tore off the towel, revealing a not-so-attractive mess, so I rifled through the drawers finding a brush, a few hair ties, bobby pins, and a hair dryer. I grabbed the brush and a tie and quickly detangled my hair and threw it into a loose bun, securing it with some bobby pins. I didn’t have any makeup, and honestly, I had no clue if I actually wore makeup, so I just shrugged at my reflection, satisfied with the result.

  When I opened the bedroom door, I was consumed with the aroma of… “Coffee,” I sang happily. It lured me out of my room, my feet drifting straight to the pot. I bent over it and inhaled deeply. The black goodness was begging me to drink it straight from the pot.

  Grady cleared his throat behind me. “I’m sorry to interrupt this deeply intimate moment, but would you like for me to pour you a cup or leave you two alone?”

  I wanted to laugh because that was what you did when someone made a joke, and it was a funny one, but I couldn’t get past the nagging questions. Did I drink my coffee black, or did I like it with creamer? Or maybe I liked it black with just sugar? I shrugged loudly.

  “I drink mine black, personally, but I know a few girls who like it with cream and sugar. I bought vanilla-flavored creamer if you want to try it.”

  He must have sensed my inner turmoil. “Yeah, that sounds good.” I scooted out of the way and took a seat at one of the bar stools at the island and watched as he poured steaming hot coffee into two mugs. The flex of his biceps was visible even with the small movement, and it held my attention as he poured a little creamer into the one I presumed was my coffee. I couldn’t take my eyes off his perfectly defined arm. I wondered when was the last time – my inappropriate thoughts made me blush.

  “Here you go.” He put the mug down in front of me, breaking my train of thought, which was probably a good thing, seeing it wasn’t traveling to the safest of places. Not right now, at least. I needed time.

  “Thank you.”

  “It was a lot of work, so you owe me one.” He winked.

  “On it,” I smiled easily and then savored the first sip of my coffee. It was simply amazing, and a gasp escaped my lips that sounded a lot like an orgasm.

  Grady watched with amused curiosity. “That’s a first.”

  I laughed, and unfortunately, I had a mouthful of coffee that immediately left my lips and showered him, which only caused me to laugh harder.

  He stood motionless from the shock. “A towel would be great,” he said, deadpan, and then chuckled.

  I fell off my chair and grabbed the kitchen towel hanging on the stove handle. Without thinking, I started to wipe the mess from his face, still stifling residual giggles. As I wiped around the bridge of his nose, we locked eyes, turning the comical situation into an oddly intimate one, which he quickly broke by taking the towel and finishing the job. Embarrassed with myself, I sat back down in front of my coffee. When Grady was finished cleaning himself, he leaned over the island across from me while sipping his coffee and studied me much like the neighbor had. I shifted uncomfortably.

  “Didn’t anyone teach you it’s not polite to stare?”

  “No, my parents died when I was a baby,” he said so seriously that a lump caught in my throat, and my lungs refused air. “I’m kidding. Lighten up.”

  “Seriously, you can’t joke about dead parents. That’s just wrong on so many levels.” I took another sip of coffee.

  “Did I make it right?” He pointed his eyes to my cup.

  “I believe so.” I smiled shyly.

  “And I wasn’t completely lying. My parents are dead.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks.”

  We coexisted in a comfortable silence for a few beats.

  “Why are you helping me?”

  He took a long pause. “Because I can,” he said simply.

  It was a good answer, so I didn’t pry further. I just wanted to enjoy the earth’s best creation. Okay, well, maybe two of the earth’s best creations. I blushed and let out a slight giggle at my naughty thought.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing,” I replied coyly. He shifted, showing his slight discomfort with the situation, so I quickly changed the conversation. “How old do you think I am?”

  “Is that one of those trick questions, like when a lady asks if her butt looks big in pants she should have donated twenty pounds ago?”

  “No.” I giggled. “I’m serious. I have no idea how old I am. I don’t even know if me being alone in the same room with you is legal,” I teased.

  “You look young, Freckles, but I hate to break it to you, you don’t look that young.”

  “Okay then, how old do you think I am?”

  He rubbed his chin theatrically while contempl
ating his answer. “My powerful rules of deduction would put you at twenty-three.”

  “And what rules would that number be based on?” I challenged with an arched eyebrow.

  “I have no idea,” he admitted as he slouched back down to the island.

  He was funny and he had me laughing a lot.

  “So, according to you, my name is Freckles, and I’m twenty-three.”

  “Yep.” He took another sip of his black coffee.

  I shook my head. “We should have enough information to apply for a driver’s license, then.”

  “Are you in a rush to get out of here? This place is pretty awesome.”

  I looked around. “Yes, it is. Why isn’t anyone living here?”

  His eyes dropped, and he moved silently around the island into the sitting room that was open to the kitchen. I wasn’t sure what I said wrong, but his reaction made me cringe. I had just ruined a lovely time with one stupid question.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  He sighed deeply. “You didn’t. It’s just complicated.”

  Of course, it was. What part of this wasn’t complicated? He had a stray cat with no memories living in a house that looks to have never been occupied. Complicated was an understatement.

  “It was meant as a gift for someone, but she never got a chance to see it.”

  His voice was barely audible as he recanted what had to have been a painful memory. I cowered as far down in my bar stool as I could get without falling off.

  He stood in front of the window quietly as I finished my coffee. I didn’t know what to say after that, so I didn’t say anything. I wanted to give him the space to work through whatever memory had taken him prisoner. I got up and debated on pouring myself another cup, but instead, I rinsed my cup and just waited.

  “I need to be going,” he said suddenly.